In January, Rayden split his forehead open in glorious fashion. He is, as many of you know, the clumsiest, most top-heavy kid on the planet. He was in the garage with Paul and Damien and face-planted on the water heater (the first of 3 large lacerations to his head that month), and ended up getting 3 stitches. (We really do watch him, I swear.) His case worker later said she was surprised that we had managed to keep him out of the hospital that long- he often gets hurt just walking.
Because we had to report all injuries to his case worker, I was panicked. I was calling every number for her, I was calling other people at DHS- I was terrified that this would somehow mess up our adoption. Having everything you do scrutinized as a parent is not comfortable. I wasn't worried about the injury- they happen. My siblings and I were frequent flyers at the doctor's office with sports injuries, and I have seen a LOT.
Paul, however... not so much. I had not yet had a chance in our 13 years together to find out that he does not handle blood well. I wasn't even in a state to notice right then- I was crying because, as I pinned down our 1yo and he screamed, I was imagining the worst case scenarios- would he be taken away? Would we be able to continue as foster parents? Would someone report us? Meanwhile, Paul was not having any of it- head wounds are serious bleeders- and the doctor asked a nurse to come in to relieve Paul, who had gotten more than a little pale.
The woman that came in- a roughly 50yo Native American woman- was perfection. She was helpful and efficient and walked into a room that already had a screaming child, said hi to Damien (in the corner of the room watching PBSkids on my phone), and was soothing to everyone. Even when we were done, I hadn't stopped crying because I hadn't heard from the case worker to assuage any of my fears. I thanked the doctor and the nurse and apologized for being a mess. They could see from his paperwork that we were not yet his legal guardians, and I explained my fear- and that nurse grabbed me in the biggest bear hug imaginable and whispered, "It's not your fault."
So simple, and yet exactly what I needed to hear. I owe her what's left of my sanity.
Fast forward to now, with my super weird pregnancy story that is all the cliches in one- and I am in LOVE with my entire doctor's office. I've had to see a lot of different doctors because I didn't schedule my appts months in advance, which means different nurses, lab techs, etc., and I have adored every. single. one. The boys LOVE the lab tech that has done almost all of my (many) blood draws- she gives them Tootsie Rolls, an easy win- and they know her by name. As I ask questions I should have known the answers to months ago, as I plan the future in fast forward, every single person has been encouraging and patient and wonderful. We're even becoming legends- several have come in and said, "Oh, YOU'RE the one that just found out! Right before the adoption? And three boys? So nice to put a face to the story!" I love them all with borderline obsession, because any modicum of peace I have gained has been from these professionals.
Slowly, too, their friendliness is winning over the kids, which I appreciate more than I can explain. My doctor is in a wing of a hospital, which I never gave a second thought to. In fact, I chose this office years ago intentionally BECAUSE it was a part of a hospital. The first time I questioned this was about a month ago- Damien had been having a rough weekend, and kept almost getting himself or Ray hurt- and we had been talking a lot about getting seriously hurt (and going to the hospital). He apparently mulled this over for a while, because at the dinner table he randomly said, "I don't want to go to the hospital and have a policeman take me away."
Whoa.
He has started to verbalize a little bit about things before foster care, and it's always hard to deal with. You never know what to say, or what he needs to hear. You try to not break down in front of anyone, but how do you not?
Damien and Rayden entered foster care after several days of meticulous note taking and reporting done by healthcare professionals that knew what warning signs to look for. Having read the MASSIVE intake reports from Rayden's time in the hospital, I am convinced that his life was saved. They did the difficult and necessary thing and rescued my son, before I knew he existed. I've had to call CPS/DHS before for students, and it is one of the most difficult things I have ever done. The emotions are so hard to sort through, and the brain wants to think the best of everyone, justifying certain behaviors and giving people the benefit of the doubt. But without these people... I wouldn't have my sweet boy.
And, bonus! My wonderful doctors now have made Damien more comfortable in hospitals, which is a feat in and of itself. This is especially good, because it's not like I'm able to avoid them right now, obviously.
So, that's it. Sorry this was a terribly long post, and the closest thing you'll ever get to a baby bump picture. Tell all of your doctors, nurses, techs, receptionists, the greeters at the hospital, ALL OF THEM- that they're awesome, because they are.
I'm still not sure with what regularity I will post, but I do want to continue to be transparent about fostering and adopting, and my love for everyone in healthcare felt very close to those topics. Enjoy! We love you, and thanks for reading!
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